


Curves

by WindwiseWords



Series: Xenogen City [10]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Belly Rubs, Coding, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Mech Preg, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformer Sparklings, instincts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-23 17:56:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8337298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindwiseWords/pseuds/WindwiseWords
Summary: While hovering around and doting on his expectant mate, Cyclonus notices Tailgate's lovely new curves.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am obsessed with this pairing and they have gotten the most attention via Hits, Kudos, and Bookmarks. Others are clearly obsessed with their adorable cuteness as well. 
> 
> I have to say I am getting tired of looking up what minerals could be pressed into food-shaped things. You can't just google that guys. I need to just make myself a spreadsheet.

Tailgate sighed and sat his data pad down slowly as Cyclonus, yet again, fluttered around him. It was the seventh time today, and it wasn’t even two o’clock yet.

“Cyclonus. You’re doing it again.” The purple mech froze, assessing to see if Tailgate spoke true and found he did. With a grunt of apology he backed off and slowly sat down on the other couch to try to read something Optimus had recommended.

Tailgate rested the edge of his data pad on the growing swell of his middle and gave himself a fond little rub. He knew Cyclonus’ reasons for flitting around him so, but even Tailgate needed space sometimes. The semi-transparent screen of his datapad helped the situation none.

Returning to his game, he tried to focus on that rather than the deep red optics that locked with his through the screen. And slowly, with practiced quiet, got up to sneak to the kitchen.

Lately Cyclonus became more like a mother hen over his round mate, and Tailgate became snappy at times. Cyclonus knew better than to take it to heart but he really could not stop the need to pamper and care for Tailgate. It was coding, he insisted. And Tailgate insisted ever more than if he kept smothering him he would suffocate in affection. If Tailgate found it to be too much, Cyclonus _knew_ it was bad.

Optimus paid them a visit on Rung’s request, trying to lighten Cyclonus’ anxiety by assuring him Tailgate was not the first mini to carry for a normal sized bot. He provided literature that Cyclonus and Tailgate poured over together, to make sure their sparkling had the brightest future and best pre-emergence care. Optimus also provided some novels for Cyclonus and comics for Tailgate. His favorites, he said, winking and telling them to not tell Prowl or Jazz. He didn’t want a full library for the next earth holiday Jazz talked the enforcer into celebrating.

When Cyclonus’ presence returned to hovering around and lightly brushing his EM field, Tailgate looked up. The purple seeker held a box of Tailgate’s latest craving: iron-shaving crackers. Bland and metallic and yet he couldn’t get enough of them.

“Thank you, Cyclonus.” Tailgate took them and snapped his mask back, nibbling on one and humming his approval. He squeaked a bit claws brushed a sprinkle of iron flakes off his chin, a flush of heat coming to his face.

Cyclonus rumbled amusement and came to kneel by the soft recliner. Tailgate liked to put his feet up, sore from hauling around extra weight all the time. Big hands came to wrap over Tailgate’s middle and the little white bot smiled around a mouthful of crackers. A mech of few words, Cyclonus rarely verbally expressed his excitement about the sparkling, usually only in the berth late at night or early when they woke.

Pale lips came to rest upon the front of Tailgate’s belly and were followed by another deep purr. Tailgate giggled softly and tried to reach to pet Cyclonus’ horns, but found it too much a stretch and flopped back.

“Are you sore?” Before Tailgate could answer, Cyclonus picked him up and moved to their berthroom.

Tailgate’s berth was removed and replaced by a crib with a closing incubator top for warmth. The Seeker Nest got cold during storms sometimes. One of Perceptor’s creations, and they liked it enough to trust it wouldn’t cause harm to their sparkling. Ratchet thought it a good enough idea to recommend to any other bonds expecting sparklings. The other berth, replaced by a larger one, was smothered in fluffy blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals. Tailgate read that seekers would sometimes ‘nest,’ and since his first day back with his sparkbond, Cyclonus only added to the mess.

Cyclonus settled Tailgate in the mound of fluff and began to rub his feet carefully. Tailgate was ticklish in some areas on his feet, but Cyclonus decided to not exploit that today. A soft sigh caught his attention, Tailgate relaxing back into the nest-fluff and rubbing lazy patterns on his distended plating.

The swordsmech was not what one could call kinky. At least in respect to the fact that while he did enjoy that Tailgate was a smaller mech, and did enjoy occasionally relenting his power to Tailgate, it was only to and for Tailgate and Tailgate alone. Occasionally a rope got into the mix, but nothing tight. Cyclonus couldn’t help but admire the curves Tailgate gained during his carrying cycle so far.

Moving his hands up along Tailgate’s calf, he rubbed carefully and tried not to scratch. Inevitably his claws would cause some paint to be missing but Tailgate never said a word about it. His hands trailed up to white thighs, and suddenly Tailgate caught the slightly hidden touch of need in Cyclonus’ field. White face plating heated up, and he wiggled in Cyclonus’ claws a bit.

The squirm permission enough, Cyclonus slid up alongside his mate and leaned to kiss him. It wasn’t a biting, dominate kiss, nor a gentle one; a firm and pointed kiss, one that let Tailgate know he appreciated the idea of letting off some steam. Tailgate nuzzled him. “If you wanted to interface you just had to ask.”

“I didn’t want to pressure you.” Cyclonus shifted Tailgate to his lap and stroked over his curvy sides. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure. I know this isn’t easy on you.” Cyclonus knew it caused discomfort and pain at times, they were warned that it would only get worse as the cycle went on. And Tailgate was only just half through this.

Gentle white fingers knitted with Cyclonus’, the pair rubbing together for a bit before Cyclonus shifted his hands past Tailgate’s reach and stroked his claws over a lightly heated panel. He already thought of how to do this exactly without putting too much strain on Tailgate’s middle.

Tailgate rubbed back against Cyclonus’ panel in return, and it didn’t take long for both of them to snap them open. Tailgate’s spike remained in its housing, a side effect of the carrier coding taking over. Any transfluid he would produce normally went to building the sparkling’s frame, or in the case of right now, a proto-shell that would eventually become the spark casing and innermost energon.

Cyclonus rested Tailgate on his rapidly pressurizing spike, rubbing his valve rim on it just right to get a squeak out of the minibot. “You look so beautiful…” He moaned quietly, offering Tailgate a digit to wrap his glossa around and soak in oral lubricant. When it damped sufficiently, Cyclonus pulled it away and traced lazy circles on the rim of Tailgate’s valve before sliding the finger in slowly.

The mewl from his tiny mate was delectable. Tailgate wiggled his hips, a silent command to push it deeper. Any ordinary day they would play cat and mouse, but today Cyclonus just gave into his mate’s needs. This was an experiment for him, and a lovely relief for Tailgate.

“C-Cyclonus!” He moaned as a second finger slid in unaided by oral lubricant, Tailgate damp enough with other lubricant to fit it with the slightest of stretches. With nowhere else to grab or hold, Tailgate’s hands wrapped around his belly and pressed lightly. He looked up and whined, nuzzling under Cyclonus’ chin.

“You look gorgeous, so heavy with my sparkling.” Cyclonus murmured, making Tailgate squirm with his voice and fingers. Cyclonus found Tailgate wasn’t the only one turned on by the words, his spike pulsing with desire. Maybe his sire coding finally kicked in full, wanting to donate to the construction of the growing frame. “So round. The new curves look good.”

Tailgate shuttered and spat static as a third claw joined the other two, his valve making a mess of one of the many blankets. Tailgate was overjoyed with the fact Cyclonus seemed to find his new curves sexy and appealing. One of his many concerns that grew along with the sparkling he carried.

Cyclonus carefully stretched his claws against the walls of Tailgate’s valve, making sure it moved with them instead of snapping tight. The warm cushion of the mesh made him shutter and it was all he could do to not forcefully take Tailgate right then and there. With care he drew the claws out, and slowly lined up his spike to rub along the rim again. Lubricant slicked the top side of his shaft, and he let out a dominant growl. He wanted to tease his mate a little bit, just enough to get Tailgate as worked up as was comfortable.

“Tell me what you want, Tailgate.” Cyclonus gently bit onto a neck cable, not nearly as hard as usual to avoid taking precious, precious energon or materials away from his sparkling’s growth.

“S-Spike… Want your spike, Cyclonussss!” The little mini whined and bucked against the throbbing length pressed against his valve. The little jerk made Tailgate’s middle bounce, and Tailgate held it carefully to steady his plating.

Cyclonus took what he could get, and shifted Tailgate up to line up and pop the head of his spike into that tight heat.

Only the heat was much more intense than Cyclonus found usually. He glanced down to Tailgate’s face and noticed his little white angel looked to be close to overload just from the tip of his spike. With an experimental thrust deeper, Tailgate spasmed and cried out Cyclonus’ name in a hard overload. Cyclonus tried to grip his hips to steady him, but found himself with palms flat to the firm sides of his belly instead.

When the overload subsided, there was no rest period before Tailgate wiggled and moaned and began to whimper pleas for more. Cyclonus obliged, shifting his hips to press into the berth pad before thrusting up and sheathing himself in one hard thrust. Metal met with a clang, and both bots shuttered and snuggled into one another. Intense was the only word.

Cyclonus carefully and delicately shifted Tailgate to lean up against his body more, holding him with an arm around the chest and a hand over his belly. He gave a small test thrust before bucking up into Tailgate at a steady rate. Cyclonus never started slow, though he kept himself in check to not bring any harm to Tailgate or the sparkling.

Tailgate made it hard to control, gasping and moaning and begging. “More, Cyclonus! Please!” It was an unbridled need to be filled up. Cyclonus angled his hips better and began to strike directly on sensitive ceiling nodes, sending Tailgate into a panting fit before his visor glowed bright and a heavy overload knocked him partly offline.

Cyclonus gritted his teeth, resisting the final urge to bite possessively onto Tailgate’s neck and overloading into the desperately clenching valve. It was a jarring overload, intense for him as it was for the little white mini. Tailgate’s overflow tank accepted it all and stored it for when it would be needed.

The two lay there for several long minutes, slouched back into the fluffy nest until Cyclonus gathered his wits and realized his hands subconsciously stroked over Tailgate’s swollen middle. He paused, but two white hands came to rest on his own so he kept going.

They lay there until laying on his back made Tailgate uncomfortable, the pair sliding to their sides to spoon.

“I hope that forgives my… Dutiful hovering.” Cyclonus chuckled and nestled the top of Tailgate’s head.

Tailgate thought a moment. “Only if you sing for me. Just until I recharge… I need a nap.” Tailgate wiggled back into Cyclonus and purred as a soft rumbling melody came from deep in his mate’s chest, more felt than heard.

The sparkling shifted and kicked, the song pausing for a moment before Cyclonus sang a bit louder. It warmed Tailgate’s spark to hear him sing not only to himself but to their unborn bitlet. The warmth and comfort of his mate lulled him into sleep, and he promised himself privately to tolerate more of the hovering if this was his reward.


End file.
